


Geronimo

by stone_in_focus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Human Castiel, M/M, POV Castiel, POV Second Person, Post-Season/Series 08, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stone_in_focus/pseuds/stone_in_focus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more than one way to fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Geronimo

Some days, you're not certain if there's a difference between falling and feeling weightless.

You never felt the first slip when you reached into hell and grabbed him tight, the first stumble when he begged you to find someone else. There was no one else, of course. God commanded it. All the hosts of heaven proclaimed it. And yet, the echoes of a thousand angels could not drown out that one small voice, the catch in the back of his throat that revealed more than just the breaks in his bones. You saw the glimmer of dying constellations in his eyes that night, ones that were charted out long before he ever came into this world, and you wanted nothing more than to pluck a handful of newborn stars and call them by his name.

But you didn't know you'd be taking down the entire sky with them.

Despite the laws of nature, it is a gradual thing, to fall. There's science, and there's mathematics. And then there's humanity, the one equation you can't solve. Because he's more than just atoms and biological formulae when you lay a palm on his shoulder and you feel him lean into it. More than blood and water when he turns his head with that ease of the brow as you watch the slight upwards creak at the corner of his lips.

He is the sun, and you long to be the moon.

You wonder if he'll ever welcome you in his arms again, shadows and craters and all. But even with ears closed, you can still hear the _Come backs_ and _I need yous,_ and they plot you a course spanning hundreds of miles until you find yourself at his doorstep with hands trembling in your pockets.

They never told you there was more than one way to fall. Nothing terrifies you more than not knowing when you're going to land.

Then he presses into you, and you hit solid ground.

"We're a real hot mess, aren't we?" he says, Adam's apple bobbing as he pats your cheek twice, and you think that'll be it—that last second quip before turning a shoulder and carrying on with business as usual. But instead, his hand just...stays.

For once, he means something literally.

With sleeves rolled up and fingers hooked onto belt, he's all hard angles, liable to cause a few scrapes and bruises. But when the clothes come off, it's the curves of his back you're fumbling for, the soft mouth you're kissing when his chin bumps up against yours. His stubble leaves a heat rash at the edge of your jaw, hands groping along damp cotton as your hipbones buck in response. You've never felt higher as you breathe a moan into the crook of his neck, working your teeth around his ear while he works you in his palm. And when the lungs finally give out, you realize you've fallen so much further than you've ever fallen before.

But this time, the words "I'm sorry" don't follow when you say his name.


End file.
